


And After All

by red_crate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Derek Hale, Canon-Typical Violence, Full Shift Werewolves, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pack Family, Peril, Post-Apocalypse, Rescue, Road Trips, Survival, Wolf Derek Hale, Wrong Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-01-20 12:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12432894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: The world fucking ended while Stiles was clear across the country from his dad. He trekked that distance on his own, surviving the elements, fighting monsters and scavengers. Stiles rescued a goddamn werewolf who ended up saving him in return.





	And After All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rlnerdgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rlnerdgirl/gifts).



> Jenni, bless you for all your support and encouragement while I spread my writing wings a bit with this fic. Thank you, Green, for the beta. Lily, thank you for cheerleading and advice. <3

 

Stiles makes it into the town a couple hours before sunset. It's the first sign of civilization he's seen in days. The main road is deserted apart from a few abandoned vehicles that look like they've been in the same spot since the world went to shit. Stiles avoids walking too close to them, sticking to the far edges of the road in case scavengers are waiting to jump an unsuspecting passer-by. No one shows themselves though, and he is relieved. 

A few more minutes of walking takes him towards a strip of big box stores. The parking lot is still mostly full of empty vehicles parked neatly in their spaces. He stops to survey the area, back pressed against a useless security light pole. The glass doors and windows of the stores are busted out, some covered with wood and flimsy cardboard. Whatever supplies were in there are long gone by now. Still, Stiles thinks about going in anyway, seeing if he can scrape together anything useful. 

That's when he notices the low rumble of sound.

Stiles skirts from car to car, using them as cover. His backpack is heavy and bulky, but he's long since learned to accommodate it. The noise he hears is the combined sound of people shouting and laughing. Fear and unexpected delight bloom inside Stiles. It's been so long since he heard that many people in one place. It could be a major problem for him—if they have an issue with outsiders—but hearing other people is still nice. 

He finally makes it to the loading area behind the building where it looks like about thirty or forty people are gathered. They're in a loose circle, yelling. 

Stiles’ stomach sinks when he realizes this isn't some odd little celebration or party. The first thing that comes to mind when he takes in the formation and the violent tone of the crowd is they are watching a dogfight or forcing two people to have it out; worse things pop up in his imagination as well. He knows how depraved humanity can be, and how much worse it has gotten since civilization became anything but civilized. 

“Shift back, you fucking coward!”

“We'll kill you too, bitch.” 

“Show him who’s really in charge!” 

That's when Stiles realizes this isn't anything he's had experience with. It's got to be a werewolf in the middle of all those people. The fear that had bubbled up inside him doubles, tinged with disgust. He knew whatever he saw would likely turn his stomach, but seeing a person—in wolf form—chained up, abused like that, makes him queasy and angry.

He ducks back around the corner of the building to take several deep breaths, trying to get ahold of himself and decide what to do. His first instinct is to run away. This isn't his fight and getting involved could mean his own death. The chances of surviving his trek back to California are slim enough. However, right on the heels of good old fashioned self-preservation is the crackling of magic in his fists. 

He could try a spell burst to kill all of them in one fell swoop. The werewolf would end up dead right along with these assholes though. While Stiles could justify going on his way and ignoring what's happening, he doesn't think he could stomach the knowledge that he killed an innocent or left someone in the hands of a violent mob. 

He’s got to do something about this.

 

 

The plan, when he comes up with it, isn’t very clever. Stiles skirts along the perimeter of the shopping center, surveilling until he’s got a decent idea of what kind of set-up this place is. The people with the chained werewolf seem to be using the abandoned stores as a home base, but aren’t staying there at night—not tonight, at any rate. Stiles spends two hours watching as the people throwing glass bottles and trash at the werewolf get bored and wander off. 

He thinks it isn’t long after midnight that everything goes quiet and most of the people have left for wherever it is they sleep. The security is sparse, just one guard posted by the werewolf and two others walking the perimeter. Stiles has been crouching behind overflowing dumpsters for the past twenty minutes, learning their rhythm.

Getting to the werewolf is easier than he expected. All it takes is one spell and the guard is knocked out cold. She doesn't make a sound except the dull thud of her body hitting the ground.

“Shit, okay.” Stiles mutters to himself as he cautiously approaches the werewolf. 

It’s large and dark though Stiles can’t quite tell what color its coat is in the distant light of the moon. He chews on his lip, worried, when he sees its spiky hackles raised and the tremble of the wolf’s lips when they peel back to reveal very sharp looking fangs. 

“I really hope you can understand me.” 

Stiles has guessed the chain’s length is about four feet, so he stands six feet back from where the wolf is crouched.  

He puts his hands out, palms forward, and squats so he’s closer to the height of the werewolf in shifted form. Stiles has no idea how close shifted werewolves are to actual canines, but he’s going to try anything he can to keep from becoming doggie kibble. 

“I’m not with the assholes that are keeping you chained up.” Stiles keeps his voice as soft and as non-threatening as he can. “I just want to help.”

After a very long moment, the wolf seems to relax a fraction. Its fur smooths out, and the snarl goes away. It doesn’t move any closer to him, but when Stiles takes a hesitant step forward it doesn’t lunge at him or scuttle away. 

Three more steps closer, and still no loss of life or limb for Stiles. When he gets to the wolf, he finds the collar around its neck has been pulled just a little too tightly. He can barely get the buckle loose enough to undo, and he apologizes the whole time. The wolf’s fur is coarse and bushy against his fingers. 

As soon as the chain and collar drop to the ground, the wolf darts off.

“You’re welcome,” Stiles mutters to himself, disappointed but not surprised by the reaction. 

He would have liked some answers. Like, how the fuck did these people get the drop on an actual werewolf. And why were they trying to get it to shift back into human form? 

Stiles doesn’t have time to dwell on his questions though. One of the other guards has noticed the one Stiles knocked out. 

The wolf isn't chained up any more, free to fend for itself, and Stiles thinks now is a great time to get the fuck out of here. 

He ducks back behind the dumpsters and holds his breath while he listens to the guard yell for someone else to come check on the woman Stiles took out. When they're distracted, he darts the other way and runs as fast as he can. 

Somehow, Stiles doesn’t get spotted on his way out. He would love to stop and sleep for the rest of the night, but the idea of staying anywhere near these people is enough to keep Stiles’ heavy feet moving. 

By the time the sun is creeping over the horizon, Stiles is trudging. His body hurts, and a headache is pounding behind his eyes. He has to stop before his awareness goes to complete shit, and he ends up an easy target. 

* * *

He wakes up sweating and mouth dry. The shadows are short on the ground, sun high overhead. His fingers reflexively grips the knife he slept with.

“Fuck.” Stiles groans quietly. 

He made camp behind a burned out gas station right off the highway off ramp. Sitting up, he tucks his knife into his boot, then rummages through his bag. His water bottle is half full, so he only takes a couple sips. 

That's when he catches sight of the wolf sitting by the treeline looking directly at him. 

Stiles almost chokes, coughing to clear his windpipe. 

“Uh.” He scoots a few inches forward as if that matters. “You followed me.” 

The wolf doesn't move except to blink. 

He squints at it. “Did I risk my life for an actual wolf?” He asks himself.

Surely, the werewolf would have shifted back to human form by now. 

Oddly enough, he doesn't feel threatened by the wolf. When he reaches out with his magic, Stiles feels the echo of something _other_. It's organic and magic, but doesn't feel quite animal or human. So werewolf, then. 

Stiles hums and caps his bottle. There is a half box of barely out of date protein bars in the top of his bag. He tears off the foil of one of them and eats it quickly, staring at the wolf just to see what happens. 

It watches him in return.

* * *

According to his map and the last mile marker he saw, California is less than 800 miles away. He's still going the right direction, even if he's going slower than he'd like.

By nightfall, Stiles realizes the wolf is still following him. Thankfully, it is the only sign of movement he's seen all day. It hung pretty far back for most of the time, but as the shadows get longer Stiles notices the nearly silent footfall of the wolf. It stays four or five yards back and sticks to the scraggly underbrush when it can. 

“If you're gonna stick around, I should probably have something to call you.” Stiles speaks quietly. 

He still doesn't know if it can understand him in its shifted form or not. But if it can, it should be able to hear him well enough. 

It would be really weird if the wolf answered back in its shifted form.

“You could always shift back and tell me your name.” He glances back at where the wolf is trotting along. “If you don't, I'll have to make up something.”

He's been thinking about names for a little while anyway. There's not a lot to occupy the mind for fun, not when you're trying to survive. It's been a nice diversion.

Smiling, Stiles tries out a few of them. “Shadow would be the most obvious pick considering our situation. There's Remus, because  _ Harry Potter _ is still a fucking classic even if the world ended. Silver. Wolfie. Fur-Face.” 

When he stops to lean against the twisted metal of a guard rail, Stiles sees the wolf stop. It might be his imagination, but he swears the wolf looks slightly annoyed. 

“Last chance to tell me yourself.” He waggles his eyebrows, happy to have someone to talk to.

They look at each other for a long moment, neither budging. 

He shrugs and says, “You look kind of regal. How about Robert. That's a nice, normal name too.” He's gotten a good enough look at the wolf to tell it isn't a female at least. 

Robert seems to huff in response. 

“Alright, Bobby—I didn't say I wasn't gonna give you a nickname,” he says with a smirk, “let's get moving. We should find somewhere to make camp before it gets too dark.” 

* * *

Stiles’ dinner is some questionable jerky and a few wild pears he found growing on a tree three  days ago. They're almost rotten, but food is food. Besides, they have some vital nutrients and water his body needs. Stiles chews the jerky and the pears together in small bites, trying not to taste them along the way.

After a while, he realizes Bobby hasn't been in view. His heart sinks at the realization. Maybe the wolf got tired of hearing Stiles ramble on and on about shit from his previous life. He wouldn't blame him, but it had been nice to have a little company. 

Stiles tosses the pear cores into his fire, watching the snap as the bits of fruit pop. His face feels tight from sunburn, and the heat of the flame highlights the discomfort. He should have found a replacement set for the sunglasses he lost back in Ohio.

Bobby shows up again, just as Stiles is telling himself it's better that he stick to his original plan and travel alone. Making plans is hard enough without factoring someone else into the equation. Relief still manages to sneak up on Stiles as he watches Bobby come closer than he has dared since Stiles set him free. 

He drops a small rabbit on the ground and stares at Stiles. 

“That for me?” Gratitude fills his voice.

The wolf backs up when Stiles stands to pick up the fresh kill. The rabbit is still warm in his hands. His stomach roils a little at that. It's hard for him to get used to this part of survival. 

Getting the small bundle ready to cook doesn't take very long, which is nice. When he tosses the entrails away, he watches in mild horror as Bobby picks at them delicately. Stiles keeps the fur, scraping the flesh while the meat cooks. He'll have to make something to tie the fur to so it can dry out while he travels. 

“Thank you.” Stiles smiles at Bobby. “I guess you already ate.”

The rabbit is tough, but it's a hot meal that Stiles hadn't counted on. He needs the calories anyway. He goes to sleep that night with a full stomach—for the first time in several days. 

* * *

Nevada doesn't look much different than Utah, but Stiles is glad to see it. He's that much closer to home and finding his dad. Compared to where he started, it feels like just a hop, skip, and a jump away.

Of course that's when they run into some trouble. 

Over the past four days, Bobby still hasn't ventured very close to Stiles, but he hasn't left him either.  _ Shadow _ would have been an apt nickname for him, but Stiles likes calling the large, mullish looking wolf “Bobby.” 

Unfortunately, the distance between them means Stiles looks like an easy target. And he doesn't know if he can count on Bobby to help him out with anything more than killing small game at dinner. However, the upside to those heartier meals means Stiles’ magic is almost as strong as it's ever been.

He sees the small gang of thirty-something looking men coming. They're walking in a loose formation down the highway. Stiles bites back a groan when he sees the chainsaw one of them is carrying. There's no way to know if the thing has gas, or if it's just for intimidation. Stiles doesn't want to find out. 

He rolls his shoulders and lets his magic shimmer over his skin in anticipation. 

“Hey, pretty boy.” The shorter, stocky guy leading the gang calls out to Stiles. He's swinging a well used machete casually back and forth in one hand. “Going somewhere?”

Stiles shrugs casually. “That's what roads are for, right?” 

The leader chuckles darkly. “Oh, we got ourselves a smartass, huh?” He exchanges a look with the guy beside him. To Stiles he says, “This road? It ain't for public use. You wanna pass, you gotta pay the toll.” 

He scoffs. “You take debit?” Stiles stops walking, two yards away from them. 

“You're awfully ballsy for a scrawny kid who don't got no one with him.” A second guy chimes in. The look he gives Stiles makes his skin crawl. “Sounds like you need someone to show you how this shit works now.”

“I think I know how it's gonna go.” Stiles raises his hands and watches as the group of men look confused. “You're going to let me go on my way, and I won't hurt you too bad. We are all just trying to survive, right? No need to be stupid about it.”

Turns out the chainsaw has gas. Its rumble is loud when the guy turns it on. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” Stiles mutters as his magic solidifies. 

He hits them with a blast that has all six of them flying back. He thinks about killing them—they're clearly not opposed to the idea of hurting  _ him _ —but Stiles doesn't know if they've got people relying on them back at their base camp. He doesn't take much time to think it over though. The rule of the new world is simply: do what you have to to survive. That might be all these guys are doing. He stops long enough to pluck a pair of mirror sunglasses off the ground where they fell off the leader during Stiles’ blast.

He calls for the werewolf. 

“Let's go!” 

His thighs and feet hurt from running to put distance between himself and the unconscious guys. When he passed by them in a wide berth, Stiles noticed one of them was impaled on a piece of rebar. That would keep them busy for a while. 

When he gets far enough away that he can't see the guys anymore, Stiles slows down. He's got a stitch in his side, and he feels like he's going to throw up from the exertion. His head hurts after using his magic like that. 

He doesn't realize it at first because his sight is tunneling a little, but Bobby has come up and started walking beside him. Stiles trips on his own feet when he sees the hulking wolf _right_ _there_. He comes up to Stiles’ elbow. 

“Now you decide to come a little closer?” He leans over, hands on his knees, and tries to catch his breath as he looks at Bobby. 

Between gasps, he complains lightly “You could have attacked those guys for me, ya know. A little backup would have been nice.”

Bobby sighs, and bumps his forehead against Stiles’ arm. Not a whole lot of input, but Stiles interprets it as  _ I knew you had it covered _ . 

Once his side stops hurting and he has his breath, Stiles thinks about petting Bobby. The fur between his eyes looks much silkier than the rough of the fur on his neck and back. He thinks better of it though; Stiles doesn't want to scare Bobby off right after he finally came closer. 

* * *

The nights have gotten colder as summer winds down into fall, but the weather has also been weirder than it used to be. Stiles and Bobby get caught in a sudden and chilly downpour the next day. There are no abandoned buildings close by, but Stiles is still able to make a temporary shelter out of a broken billboard. The sign fell to the ground some time ago, and the wood is rotted, but it works well enough to shield him and Bobby from the rain when he leans it against a tree trunk.

At least Bobby has gotten over his aversion to close quarters. 

The spray of the rain bouncing up off the hard packed earth is cold, as is the wind that blew the storm in. Stiles hopes it will stop raining soon, before they’re flooded out. 

He uses a warming charm he learned his first semester of college, just before everything went to shit. It’s enough to take the edge off—keep him from shivering—but he isn’t going to be able to keep it up very long. His energy level is almost zilch now. 

Bobby scoots a little closer to him, fur brushing across Stiles’ pants when the wolf lies down. 

“Are you cold?” He thinks to ask, eyeing the thick, charcoal fur. Bobby rests his head on Stiles’ shin. It’s heavy. 

Stiles doesn’t move. 

The rain peters out into a light drizzle, but the wind picks up and the water starts blowing into their little hut. Stiles doesn’t realize it until he jolts awake, hoodie soaking wet on one side from the blast of water. 

He’s slumped down, one arm over Bobby’s flanks while Bobby’s tail curves over Stiles’ shoulder. His head settled next to Stiles’ feet, body pressed tight enough against Stiles that he actually feels  _ warm  _ on that side. 

Stiles doesn’t get much time to enjoy the warmth, because he has to get Bobby to move so they can reposition the billboard to block the rain. 

* * *

The rain doesn’t let up completely, and they seem to be heading the same direction the front is moving. After a few hours of light rain, Stiles asks Bobby if he thinks they should keep walking. When the wolf just looks at him and shakes his body, Stiles takes that as an affirmative.

It was a bad idea. 

Stiles has some plastic he’s been using to block the rain from falling on him, but he’s already damp from earlier. And then the rain starts coming down in sheets. 

“Damn it.” 

He readjusts his grip on the plastic where he’s been holding it up. His biceps ache with the continued strain, and it doesn’t seem to be doing much help by this point. Stiles sighs and rolls it up as tightly as he can before blindly reaching back to unzip his bag enough to shove the plastic inside. Once they find some real shelter, he’ll unroll it and let it dry. 

They come to an overpass.

Almost half of the other end of the bridge is missing, and Stiles isn't really sure how the fuck the whole thing hasn't collapsed yet. He surveys the distance as rain pelts down on him. 

“What do you think?” 

He finds himself speaking louder to compensate for the noise of the rain. The water gets in his mouth, and it tasted a little bit sour. He frowns. Bobby presses against his side, but, predictably, doesn't say anything. 

Something about the weight of him against his side has Stiles hesitating before he takes the first step. The smart thing to do would be to go the long way: down the embankment, across the other road, and up the other side. But the rain is coming down hard enough that Stiles just wants to get past this as quickly as possible and find shelter. He’s hoping there is somewhere they can hide out until the rain lets up completely. 

“Okay, c’mon.” Stiles nods to himself. “Quick like a bunny.”

He hitches his bag on his shoulders, where they hurt from the added water weight. He sticks to the far side, jogging a straight line to the other side of the bridge. 

It works until the moment it doesn’t. 

He’s almost cleared the whole damn thing, but then an ominous groaning sound alerts Stiles of trouble too late. Suddenly he’s stepping and his foot only catches air. The fall happens so fast that he doesn’t realize it for a split second. 

He doesn’t even have time to scream, just scramble and lash out to grab anything he can to keep him from falling with the collapsed bridge. Stiles manages to grab onto some rebar jutting out where the rest of the bridge fell away. 

The metal is slick from the rain. Stiles blinks rapidly, heart beating so hard it feels like it will burst right out of his chest. He grabs hold of the rebar with both hands, dangling some twenty feet off the ground. His shoulders hurt. His arms are already shaking. 

“Bobby!” Stiles screams, looking down to see if he can see the werewolf in the wreckage of the bridge. 

He tries pulling himself up, but the weight of his pack is pulling him down. He was already exhausted before he fell, muscles tight and rubbery. Tears spring up in his eyes. Three hundred miles from home, and this is how he’s going to die. 

Stiles doesn’t know any spells or charms to help save himself. His apprenticeship didn’t get all that far before the world ended and his mentor was killed. Stiles tries imagining himself on solid ground. He was taught that believing is half the battle. 

Suddenly, Stiles is moving up. 

It isn’t his magic, however, it’s a man. He’s got Stiles by the wrists, tugging him up over the jagged lip of the bridge. 

Stiles scrambles, feet slipping on the rebar and cement as he helps push himself up once he has enough purchase. 

Catching his breath, Stiles looks to see who saved him. 

They guy is naked with matted, short dark hair and an impressive beard. 

“Thank you.” Stiles rushes to say, averting his eyes. He doesn’t care if the guy is running around naked, at least he was here to help Stiles. 

The man moves close enough that Stiles can see he has expressive hazel eyes. They’re almost familiar. 

Stiles chews on his bottom lip for a second before asking hesitantly, “Bobby?”

A small smile ghosts across the guy’s mouth. “Derek, actually.”

Shimmying out of the straps of his bag, Stiles sits up on his knees in his excitement. “Holy fuck. You’re the werewolf?” He reaches out to grab Derek by the shoulders.

After a beat, Derek nods. “Yeah.” His smile is beautiful, and Stiles never expected to see something shine so brightly ever again. 

They stare at each other for a few seconds. 

He doesn’t know who leans in first, but suddenly their foreheads are pressing against each other. The rain is still pouring down on them, cold, but Stiles barely notices it in that moment. His breath hitches when his mouth first touches Derek’s in a simple kiss. Derek’s hands come up to frame his face. They’re large and warm when his fingers thread through Stiles’ hair. 

In college, Stiles somehow missed out on dating. He went on a string of first dates that all ended either blandly or terribly. He hooked up a couple times, finally losing his virginity, but he never actually had anyone he could label “significant other.” 

It’s been almost a year and a half since he last kissed anyone. 

Stiles leans into it, stealing Derek’s warmth and opening his mouth. Derek’s tongue meets his, and they slide together slowly. 

The world fucking ended while Stiles was clear across the country from his dad. He trekked that distance on his own, surviving the elements, fighting monsters and scavengers. Stiles rescued a goddamn werewolf who ended up saving him in return. 

He pulls back, laughing incredulously. “This is insane.” Stiles lets go of the hold he had on Derek’s shoulders. “I mean, thank you for saving me.” When he glances down, his cheeks heat. “Uh, you really need some pants.”

Derek pulls his knees up to his chest, smiling just a little. “Got any I can borrow?”

 

 

“Let me get this straight, they pit you against your pack mates until you were forced to kill each one?” Stiles asks later that day. 

They found shelter in a motel room. The bed was missing and the TV was smashed in, but the door still locked. Derek sat on the floor next to him, toweling dry his hair. 

“Yeah. They wanted me at my strongest before I bit the leader and turned him into a wolf.” He’s frowning when he looks at Stiles. “I’m pretty sure they were going to kill me after that. They thought being a werewolf would better their chances at surviving.”

Stiles thinks about it. “Enhanced sight and hearing, healing factor.” He nods. “I can see the appeal, I guess. But…” He shakes his head. “That’s a really fucked up way to go about it.” 

After a heavy pause, Stiles asks, “Is that why you stayed in your wolf form? Did you think I’d do that to you?”

Derek takes a few moments to answer. When he does, he says, “The Bite only works on humans when the alpha is in human form. That’s why they wanted me to shift back, because they knew I wouldn’t be able to turn them while I was still shifted.” He looks sad. “I had to be careful.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Stiles takes Derek’s hand. “You didn’t owe it to me to shift back. I was just happy to have someone I could ramble at. But I do appreciate the help back there at the bridge.” 

Derek squeezes Stiles’ hand. “I wasn’t going to let you fall, Stiles.” He pauses and wets his lips. “My wolf started to think of you as pack.” 

The words came out in a whisper, a confession. Stiles’ stomach swoops. He doesn’t really know what that means, but it sounds good. Even if ninety-nine percent of their time together was spent while Derek couldn’t talk to him, Stiles has to admit that there is some kind of connection between them.  

Stiles’ silence must unsettle Derek, because he says, “I would have saved you anyway. I might look like I’m just an animal, but I wouldn’t let you get hurt even if my wolf didn’t consider you pack.”

Stiles rubs a hand over his head. This is a lot of information to take in. 

What it boils down to though is Derek is a survivor. He’s like Stiles: alone in the world but willing to reach out to others. He pulls Derek’s hand into his lap, threading their fingers together. 

“My dad is in northern California. That’s where I’m going.” Derek nods. Stiles has talked about that while they were traveling together. “We can find him together. Be our own weird little human/wolf pack.”

Derek’s smile is slow, it almost blooms across his face like a flower. Stiles doesn’t realize it when he tightens his grip on Derek’s hand. 

“Pack?”

Stiles grins back at him, answering, “Pack.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> _Because maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me_  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> _And after all, you're my wonderwall  
> _
> 
> —"Wonderwall" by Oasis


End file.
